


Not To Seek For Love

by LittleMissGG



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Barebacking, Biting, Daddy Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-05
Updated: 2013-05-05
Packaged: 2017-12-10 11:37:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/785632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleMissGG/pseuds/LittleMissGG
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somethings happen slowly, and sometimes they're the best things. Fluff, brief angst and smut.<br/>Set end of Season 3 through to the end of Season 4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not To Seek For Love

Reid wakes slowly, senses reluctantly coming back to him, eyes fluttering open against the glare of the sun through the crack in the blinds. It’s warm beneath the pile of blankets and sheets, every inch of him snug and toasty, and he lets himself drift in and out of sleep.

“I’m fixing that blind today.” Morgan’s voice is heavy and slurred and Reid doesn’t have to look to know his eyes are still closed. Reid stretches one leg out beneath him, relishes the way the muscles feel as they wake. Morgan shuffles closer, fingers curling over the sharp jut of Reid’s hip and then sliding his whole body up against Reid’s, fingers slipping from it’s perch on Reid’s hipbone and sliding over the soft muscle of his stomach, palm spreading open and resting there.

“You said that last Tuesday.” Reid smiles into his pillow, closing his eyes against the glare once more. The blind hasn’t sat straight since he put it up four years ago, leaning to left and letting the light in through the gap. Every time Morgan stays over, every time they’re woken by the streaming sunlight, Morgan grumbles about being woken up and swears to fix it.

“Okay smart-ass, I got distracted last Tuesday.”

“You said that last Wednesday.” Reid chuckles and pushes his face into the pillow, pushing his hips back just enough to establish contact, lazy and warm and half conscious. 

“Did I now?” Morgan laughs, quiet and breathy, shifting closer still until his lips are brushing against Reid’s neck, reaching up to push Reid’s hair clear so he can open his mouth against the skin and press the flat of his tongue there.

“Uh-huh. Said it was my fault you had other things on your mind.”

“Really now?” Morgan’s beard scratches the sensitive skin on the back of Reid’s neck and Reid shivers, hips pushing back against Morgan’s weight. “What else did I say, baby boy?” His voice is like honey and gravel, words sliding right over Reid’s skin. Reid bites his lip and tips his head back, just enough to encourage a proper kiss against the underside of his jaw, his ear, Morgan’s hand wide and warm on his stomach and pulling them flush together.

“You said-- You couldn’t be responsible--” Reid gasps when Morgan bites down, just pressing the edge of his teeth against Reid’s skin, not even enough to leave a mark but enough to make Reid breathe hard.

“Responsible for what?” Morgan smiles, fingers tracing the fine line of hair from Reid’s belly button and down.

“Your actions. R-r-responsible for your actions. I-I was wearing your shirt...” Reid flushes hot all over at the memory; carelessly pulling Morgan’s henley on over his boxers, the shirt far too big for him and stretched out so it hung passed his fingers. Morgan’s reaction, grabbing him and holding him close, murmuring into his skin and insisting Reid keep the shirt on when they--

“Fuck--” Morgan’s hips jerk forward, the memory obviously as vivid for him as it is for Reid.

They stay like that, front to back, moving and shifting against one another, Morgan’s mouth moving across Reid’s neck and jaw and his hand slipping lower beneath the sheets. 

* * * *

Serial killers rarely have the decency to operate during normal working hours which means their day off actually ends up being a Monday. When they finally climb free of their cocoon of blankets it’s already eleven and after a shower each it’s closer to midday.

Morgan makes eggs - scrambled because Reid prefers it, with whatever remnants of vegetables he can scavenge from the bottom of Reid’s refrigerator. They sit on the sofa and Morgan flicks between the news channels and the cartoon channel while Reid tries to balance his plate on his knees and read the latest copy of the Journal of Biomechanics.

When they finish Reid takes the plates to the kitchen and washes up, shuffles round the kitchen and tries to make sense of the mess, tries to make space or clean enough of the surfaces to make it look habitable. He gives up after an hour when he get’s bored and wanders back through his apartment to where Morgan is sprawled across the sofa watching a documentary on the Sahara.

“Love me some lions on my day off.” He comments without prompting, shifting his legs to make room for Reid. Instead Reid grabs his notepad from the desk in the corner, barely visible beneath an avalanche of papers and knick-knacks and a struggling Guzmania. Reid settles in the armchair beside the window, pulling his feet up under him and sitting cross-legged as he begins to write.

* * * *

Morgan knows better then to interrupt Reid while he’s writing. He could try but it’d be a fruitless endeavour. After the documentary and a half hour of nothing good on the news he climbs off the sofa and grabs a few bits and pieces of dirty laundry scattered across the room. Reid’s apartment is a little like something out of a fifties movie crossed with something from one of his sci-fi shows. There’s books - everywhere. Everywhere. Not just on the shelves where they are accompanied by DVD’s and VHS tapes and cassettes and vinyls and journals and knick-knacks and pictures and PHD certificates and action figures of all shapes and sizes, but the floor and the desk and the coffee table and the kitchen counters. They’re all in neat piles, some even alphabetised, but they’re everywhere.

Morgan is getting better at navigating the paper mountain ranges - physics and engineering in the hallway, fiction in the bedroom, books to be read in the living room beside the sofa, psychology and biology on the desk… It goes on. He made the mistake once of picking a book up from one pile and after reading through half a dozen chapters he put it back in the wrong pile. It’s not OCD, as Reid keeps telling him, it’s simply that Reid has an order for things and he doesn’t like wasting time trying to re-organise them.

Morgan resists the temptation every time they have the conversation to point out that this dedication to order doesn’t manage to get as far as Reid’s sock drawer. It’s a close thing once or twice.

The laundry ends up being a mix of work shirts and underwear and Morgan has just turned on the machine when Reid sidles up behind him in the kitchen.

“Hey, you finished writing?”

“For now.” Reid hooks his chin over Morgan’s shoulder and wraps his arms round Morgan’s waist, fingers lacing together over the hard curve of his abs. They stand like that for a while, just close and still.

“What’cha doing?” Morgan finally asks, turning his head to catch a glimpse of Reid out of the corner of his eye. 

“You smell good.” Reid murmurs, turning his face into Morgan’s neck and rubbing his nose against the corner of Morgan’s jaw.

“I smell like laundry and-- other things.” Morgan laughs, a little breathless, covering Reid’s hands with his own.

“I like it.” Reid kisses the hinge of Morgan’s jaw. They stay that way for a minute longer before Morgan twists in Reid’s grasp until they’re face to face. Reid keeps his arms looped about Morgan but let’s his hands slip to his hips.

“What are we doing today? Looks like you could do with some grocery shopping.” Morgan brushes his fingers through the hair at Reid’s temple before letting his hands rest on his shoulders.

“I don’t wanna go grocery shopping.” Reid tucks his face up under Morgan’s chin and Morgan wraps his arms round his back.

“Is that; I don’t wanna go out or I don’t wanna go out?” Morgan asks. He changes his tone both times, the first a whine and the second a simple declarative statement. The fact that Morgan knows him well enough to ask makes Reid’s chest swell and he feels himself grinning against the warm skin of Morgan’s neck. 

“The first one.” He admits, tasting Morgan’s skin when he speaks.

“Oh well, in that case.” Morgan twists his fingers into Reid’s hair, tugging lightly so that Reid leans back and Morgan can see his face. “Move your backside Agent Reid, I fancy more than last night’s take-out and week old OJ for my dinner.”

“There’s an egg in there too, y’know.” Reid tries for a pout but ends up laughing. Morgan rolls his eyes and swats Reid’s ass as he leaves, heading for the bedroom to get dressed properly.

* * * *

Morgan cooks dinner; it’s something he claims he has a natural talent for and when Reid tries to argue Morgan just kisses him and laughs at his indignant rage. He makes pasta with chicken and pesto, no mushrooms (Reid hates them) and plenty of cherry tomatoes (they always end up fighting over the last ones) and they eat at the kitchen table after Reid finally cleared it of paperwork and historical ordinance survey maps.

They talk about work a little, mostly Morgan sharing gossip from the office that Reid is oblivious too, discussing recent decisions that have effected the team and its operations. They discuss the research Reid has been doing for his latest PhD, the link between education and criminal violence, and how Reid is planning a study from one of their old cases. Morgan gives Reid the highlights from his last phone call home and how he might be an uncle soon and he can’t stop the excitement rolling off him.

“Jello!” Reid bounces in his chair when Morgan puts down the bowl.

“The best non-diary pudding choice.” Morgan parrots - Reid had spotted it in the market and spent ten minutes regaling Morgan with jello facts and anecdotes.

“The best.” Reid starts on about how it gets made but Morgan manages to stop him with a debate about how green jello is clearly the greatest (Reid argues that it’s red, and he has the facts to prove it). 

When they finish Morgan convinces Reid to leave the plates and the dishes and they sprawl out on the sofa. Reid isn’t really paying attention, laid out on top of Morgan and half daydreaming when Morgan flicks on an old episode of CSI. The two of them settle in and systematically pick apart the show; laughing at interrogation techniques, the unreal simplicity of gathering evidence and Reid gets particularly vocal when one character totally misinterprets the handwriting of the ‘killer’. 

After a particularly loud outburst Morgan laughs at Reid’s complete outrage and ends up leaning in for a kiss. One turns to two and soon they’re laying on the sofa making out like teenagers. Reid straddles Morgan’s lap and curls his fingers round the armrest behind Morgan’s head, rocking down in little shallow thrusts as Morgan’s mouth moves hot and and hungry over his lips. They tussle a little; Reid fighting to try and pin Morgan’s hands down to the sofa and Morgan grabbing at Reid’s skinny ass, trying to make him rock down harder.

It’s only the closing credits on the tv that shake them from their make-out session. Reid giggles into Morgan’s neck as he roots around for the remote that’s gone missing somewhere between them, gasping when Morgan gets a handful of something that’s decidedly NOT the remote. They both climb up off the sofa and Morgan offers to lock up while Reid heads off the the bedroom.

* * * *

Morgan helps Reid strip down, slow and careful, slipping his fingers under layers of clothing to feel warm, soft skin beneath. When he’s done he pushes Reid down against the bed and strips himself quickly, smoothing a hand over Reid’s hip as he climbs on the bed beside him.

Reid still gets a little self-conscious when he’s so exposed, fingers itching to reach for  
Morgan, to pull him close and to cover himself up with another body. He lets Morgan touch him, tries to breathe evenly though he finds himself gasping and stuttering when Morgan pushes his knees apart and settles between them.

Reid reaches down and pinches at the base of his prick, takes a couple of breaths with his eyes tight shut, and Morgan obviously respects the need for a little recovery time as he keeps contact to a minimum, just barely brushing his fingertips along the inside of Reid’s knee, down against the course hair on his legs.

When Reid finally opens his eyes Morgan is looking at him, a smug smile on his lips as he lowers his head and kisses Reid’s hipbone, the soft rise of his stomach.

“You okay up there, baby boy?” Morgan smiles, fingers tracing firmer patterns up higher now, on the tender skin on the inside of Reid’s thighs. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m…” Reid laughs, throwing one arm over his eyes and arching his back as Morgan kisses his stomach again, fingers pressing hard into the soft muscle of Reid’s thighs and pushing them open wider. “That’s-- I--” Reid nods his head, cheeks hot and the heat creeping down his chest.

“You like that? Like having your legs spread?” Morgan teases but his voice is rough, just a little breathless himself. He kneels up, stretching along Reid’s body and kissing his chin, his cheek, lifting Reid’s arm away and kissing his mouth before smiling down at him. “It’s okay, you can tell me. You know how much I love to hear it baby.”

Reid whines, fingers scrabbling at Morgan’s shoulders and pulling him in closer, kissing him harder. It’s a little messy, mouths sliding hot and wet against each other as they rock closer, Morgan balancing himself on one bent arm while he twists his fingers into Reid’s hair. He kisses Reid’s cheek, then his jaw, finally his ear; he bites a little and pushes his hips down when Reid arches up.

“Go on baby, say it. You know you wanna.” Morgan grins against the skin, licking the salt-sweet taste of sweat and skin just below Reid’s ear. He rocks them together a couple of times, not nearly enough friction to be satisfying. 

“Da--Oh God--” Reid squeezes his eyes shut and pushes his head back, exposing the length of his neck. Morgan wants to cover it in little red bruises with his teeth and his fingers so badly that he bites down on Reid’s collar bone just to tamper the urge. “Please.” Reid manages, eyes sliding open, fingers clutching at the back of Morgan’s skull.

“Please-- Daddy.” He says the word like it’s tearing him open - like it hurts. It’s so... naughty. He can feel it in his balls and in his toes and in his chest - the shame and the thrill, all making his skin hot and heart race. Morgan growls at the word, kisses Reid’s lips again, reaching down to grab at Reid’s thigh and hold his legs open again, just because he can.

“Fucking-- Oh yeah, baby boy. I’m gonna take good care of you.” Morgan kisses him once more before kneeling backup between Reid’s thighs, reaching over for the bottle on Reid’s bedside cabinet. He makes a show of rubbing the slick-wet lube between his palms, slowly sliding his hands over Reid’s cock and then down, tugging on his balls before pressing two fingers up against the soft skin behind. Reid whines again, hooking his heels behind Morgan’s thighs and keeping his legs spread wide.

Morgan keeps pressing up against the sensitive inch of skin just behind Reid’s balls, sliding back every now and then to tease at his hole before sliding back away. Reid reaches between them and grabs at Morgan’s wrist, pushing his hand back where he wants it and lifting his hips.

“Pushy.” Morgan laughs, leaning over to kiss Reid once more. “Pushy baby boy, knows just what he wants.” He breathes it, right into Reid’s ear as he’s sliding his fingers inside Reid’s body.

“Yes! Oh-- Oh my-- Daddy, yes, please…” Morgan groans against Reid’s skin, biting down on a hard, pink nipple as he pushes his fingers so deep the webbing between them stretches. He’s fast, fingers sliding out and forcing back in quick, so quick that Reid keeps gasping when they do, practically hyperventilating until Morgan slows down and slides his fingers out all the way, rubbing over and around his hole but never inside.

Morgan hooks Reid’s spread knees over his forearms and leans in, holding Reid open obscenely.

“Look at you.” Morgan taunts, all rough and desperate now. “Wet and open for Daddy, huh?” He doesn’t give Reid a chance to respond - he’s pushing forward, lining himself up and sliding the head of his cock over Reid’s hole again and again before catching the rim and sliding right inside. Reid moans loud, shoving his hips into it as best he can in the position Morgan has him, reaching above his head to grab at the bed frame as Morgan rocks into him; shallow strokes at first then deeper, agonisingly steady, never quite fast enough.

Reid finally relinquishes his hold on the bed frame to reach for his own cock, stroking tentatively as Morgan slides his hips with a twist, right at the end, making Reid choke on a scream.

“That’s it, touch yourself. That feel good? Does it baby boy?”

“Yeah-- I-- It’s good. It’s… It’s so good.” Reid strokes faster, chasing the sharp, tight feeling in his balls as he gets closer. Morgan finally relents, is hips slipping out of their steady grinding rhythm to pound faster, skin slapping together as he forces deeper. Their breathing is heavy and close, both breathing out words now, nonsense and begging and praise, back and forth between them. It’s frantic, Reid’s leg slipping from Morgan’s arm as Morgan reaches for him, grabbing the hair at the base of Reid’s neck as he kisses him, hard. Morgan shoves his hips in deep and moans into the kiss, breaking away and gasping for breath as he comes, breath rushing out of him as his fingers tighten almost painfully in Reid’s hair. As he comes down his hips give little aborted thrusts, nuzzling at Reid’s neck until his stubble starts to burn and Reid has to shove him away.

Morgan doesn’t pull too far away though, instead reaching between them to wrap his fingers over Reid’s, stroking faster, leaning in to kiss him again while he strokes down lower, tugging on Reid’s balls as he rocks his hips in just a fraction even as he can feel himself softening inside. He lets go of Reid’s hair and brushes the stray sweaty strands from his forehead.

“You gonna come for Daddy, baby boy?” He purrs, biting at Reid’s jaw.

It’s all it takes, pushing Reid over the edge and headlong into his orgasm. He bucks beneath Morgan, twisting sharply and groaning like it hurts. It kinda does, coming so hard and after being teased for so long. He slumps boneless against the sheets as Morgan finally pulls out and collapses over him, head pillowed on Reid’s heaving chest.

They lay in a pile of post orgasmic after-glow for a minute or two, before Reid shifts and reaches for a wet wipe from the packet on the nightstand. He pulls a face as he wipes his hands, the same face he always pulls, and Morgan chuckles as he shifts too, lifting himself up on one arm in a half pushup and then rolling off of Reid and off the bed.

“Show off.” Reid mumbles, stretching cat-like on the bed, twisting his ankles and his wrists so they click.

“Hush your mouth.” Morgan laughs, swatting at Reid’s thigh as he pulls an old t-shirt out of the laundry basket in the corner and uses it to wipe the worst of the sweat and come and lube off his skin. Reid wrinkles his nose at that and rolls off the bed reluctantly, stepping into the bathroom and jumping out of the way when Morgan makes to whip him with the shirt.

Once he’s cleaned up to a satisfactory level he pads back to the bed where Morgan is sprawled out on his back, arms behind his head.

“You look like a center-fold when you do that.” Reid mocks as he lays down beside him, curling up and over his side, grinning when he finds that his body lines up perfectly alongside Morgan’s.

“What do you know about center-folds?” Morgan teases, hooking the sheets with his foot and pulling it up and over them both, dropping one arm round Reid’s shoulders.

“The first recorded use of the word center-fold to describe a pin-up or sexualised image was in 1952--” Morgan rolls them over and kisses the words off Reid’s lips as he reaches out and shuts off the bed side lamp.

* * * *

The case is a tough one. Four dead already and a fifth boy missing. All African-American males aged between 19 and 26, all found mutilated in their on-campus dorm rooms. The problem is, no one’s talking. No friends or family, no one seems to know what they could have in common.

It’s the fourth boy that cracks it - at 26 he was too old to be studying and after further investigation it turns out that he was staying with his student boyfriend. The boyfriend doesn’t want to talk, shuts down every line of questioning and tearfully begs for them not to say a word.

“There’s nothing in any social media or otherwise to suggest that any of your victims were gay. Not a word of it any where I’ve looked. I mean even the kid you questioned this morning - his facebook as pictures of babes and his buddies all teasing him about girls…” Garcia is stumped. The whole team hits a brick wall.

“The problem is even if we put out an appeal it’s unlikely the community these boys were part of would want anything to do with us.” Hotch throws the file of the third boy down on the desk.

“That’s not necessarily true.” Morgan interjects. He’s feeling too close to this case, mostly because interviewing some the frat boys was like being back in college and the fact that they still feel the same way about kids who don’t fit in makes him feel a little hopeless.

“I don’t know, most social studies show that despite the liberal nature of college campuses homosexuality is still a huge challenge especially among males--”

“Okay, so where do we go for support. Maybe we go to the gay community itself? Maybe we appeal to their sense of self-preservation.” Morgan tries, unwilling to hear another statistic on why they’re screwed.

“Actually, even the most recent studies show that the majority of African-American males between the ages of 19 and 31 have serious problems coming to terms with their own homosexuality so even--”

“Y’know, just because you’re right doesn’t mean you’re _right_ , Reid. Okay?”

Morgan viciously shoves his sunglasses up his nose and storms out of the makeshift HQ and Reid’s mouth shuts in a tight pink line as he watches him go. Hotch continues with the profile as though nothing has happened and JJ touches Reid’s arm for a second before she looks away.

* * * *

In the end it’s the fifth victim, Matthew, that’s the key. When his body shows up his boyfriend, a skinny freshman who’s hands won’t stop shaking, agrees to speak to them. To Reid, more specifically. He admits there’s a club they went to, off-campus, known as a safe space for people not yet ready to come out. He described a small community of young men, mostly from the campus but some from the local area, all figuring out how the hell they were supposed to navigate the word without getting caught.

On a Thursday night there was a club night and everyone ended up hooking up and experimenting. He’d met Matthew there, on a club night, he explained. They’d only been together a few months. He ended up crying on Reid’s shoulder in the interview room.

The unsub is a professor who had an affair with a male student - the first victim - and got caught by his wife who subsequently left him. He’s an angry, vicious little man and while Hotch is interrogating him Morgan stands behind the glass and stares at him, silent and angry like a self-contained storm. No one talks to him.

The ride home is quiet, it’s late and they all keep to themselves. Morgan is sat on his own away from everyone, eyes closed and headphones on, and Reid leaves him there, sitting next to JJ reading through the case files she occasionally hands him.

* * * *

They get back to Reid’s apartment around eight in the morning, too wired to sleep but too tired to do much else. They both head to the kitchen without having to discuss it. Reid pulls down two mismatched coffee cups from the cabinet and fills the kettle with the water. He turns up the heat and drops the kettle on, leaning back against the counter.

“I upset you.” Reid has his hands in his pockets and he’s rocking on the balls of his feet.

“No, the case upset me.” Morgan slumps in a kitchen chair and loosens his belt, laying his gun on the table.

“I frustrated you.” Reid clarifies. He crosses his arms over his chest and watches the kettle boiling. He has to understand, has to identify his failings because it’s how he learns. He was sharing knowledge that was relevant to the case and could have helped them. He doesn’t understand why that, why _he_ , was the one that pushed Morgan over the edge.

“It’s-- It’s just complicated.” Morgan shakes his head and casts a quick glance over Reid where he’s leaning against the counter. All of a sudden he’s moving, coming to stand before Morgan with his arms uncrossing and resting on his hips.

“Complicated? _Complicated_?” Reid’s voice is rising, so alien and unusual it shocks Morgan to silence. “I have an IQ of 187, I have three PhD’s and I’m well on my way to my fourth. I graduated high school when I was 12 years old Morgan.” He ends up gesturing wildly, arms windmilling around as he yells. “I was the youngest person to join the BAU in the history of the unit and the third youngest agent to ever join the bureau. I can do complicated! I can manage complicated. You treat me like--” Reid throws his hands in the air. “Like I’m a little kid. I’m a grown up, Morgan, and I can deal with _complicated_.”

And with that he’s gone. As soon as the words are out of his mouth he storms away and Morgan hears the bedroom door slam a few seconds later. He sits still at the table for a while, listening to the neighbours moving around; their voices, the water pipes, the air con, the cars driving down the street outside. Eventually the kettle starts whistling and Morgan drags himself up and turns the heat off. Reid had already put out the cups with the instant coffee but suddenly Morgan doesn’t feel like he needs any more stimulants. He roots around in the cupboards for the tea bags - camomile, peppermint, chai - and then tips the coffee grounds into the trash.

He pours the boiling water over the tea bags and then goes back to the trash, filled to the brim. He hauls out the bag and heads to the door, pulling it open and stepping across the hallway to shove the bag into the trash chute. When he comes back he tries not to let the front door slam but as usual it has a life of it’s own and it bangs closed. The bedroom door swings open a second later and Reid is stood there, eyes red and shirt replaced by Morgan’s Chicago PD sweat shirt.

They stare each other down for a minute, Reid breathing heavy and eyes wet and wide before he takes a deep breath, crossing his arms over his torso.

“I thought you left.” And it sounds like an accusation, as though there would be nothing worse and Morgan wishes he could make that hurt less then it does.

“I took out the trash. I wouldn’t-- I’m not gonna leave.”

“Okay.” Reid’s voice is small now, broken, and he looks like he might shatter if Morgan pushes him too far.

“I--Spence…” Morgan steps across the hall and grabs at him, burying his face in Reid’s neck and holding him close, so close he can feel the sobs shuddering through Reid’s chest. “I didn’t-- It’s just--” Morgan just can’t get the words out, can’t straighten them up in his head. Reid holds him tight, smoothing his cold fingertips over Morgan’s head and down over his shoulders. Eventually he hauls Morgan into the bedroom, pushing him against the edge of the bed until he sits down. Reid straddles his lap, knees planted firmly against the mattress either side of Morgan’s hips.

“It’s complicated.” Reid kisses him, his lips, his cheek, his eyelid. “I’ve seen you beaten unconscious by a serial killer.” Another kiss, to his cheek. “You watched me get tortured.” A kiss to his forehead. “You have scars that you painted over with tattoos and you think that means they’ve gone but they haven’t and I know where they all are. You know why I can’t sleep without socks on. I know why you never let me go into a house first anymore, you know why I call you every few hours when we’re on a job and we’re apart.”

Morgan buries his face against Reid’s chest, breathing in the odd scent of the sweatshirt, the two of them combined. Reid presses a row of kisses across his forehead, fingers twisting into Morgan’s t-shirt. He presses a kiss to the shell of Morgan’s ear before whispering.

“It’s complicated. It’s so complicated. But it’s ours. Don’t shut me out, Derek. It’s complicated, but it’s _our_ complicated.”

Morgan flips them, suddenly, so that Reid is flat on his back and Morgan’s face is pressed to his chest, hidden from view. Reid strokes his fingers down Morgan’s back, over and over, leaning forward every now and then to press a kiss to the crown of Morgan’s head. Eventually their breathing evens out, Reid’s heart has stopped racing and he stares at the ceiling, counting all the times he’s watched Morgan tackle an unsub to the floor and the likelihood that he could have been injured in those altercations and how he’s still here, in one piece. He can’t figure out what the odds are of that. It makes him feel safe.

“It wasn’t-- I’m not ashamed. Not of you, of this. That’s not it.” He says it like he’s reassuring Reid and Reid wants to tell him he doesn’t have too. “There’s so many people, so many-- Early childhood development and sexuality is such a minefield. And I hate that-- I never told anyone about how I felt, how could I? How could I possibly have these feelings and it not be about him? And I-- The way I feel about you, that’s real. It’s… The most perfect thing.” He breathes slow, his chest shuddering with the weight of the words. “I hate the idea of him being here, between us.” Morgan turns his face into Reid’s chest, fingers curling into Reid’s sides.

He lets Morgan’s words roll over him, lets that sink in. He sighs. He scrubs his fingers across Morgan’s back and presses his fingertips over the racing pulse in Morgan’s neck.

“We spend our whole lives surrounded by monsters, but - they don’t get to follow us home. There is nothing in this bed but you and me. No unsubs, no case files, no team…” Reid kisses his head again, wrapping his arms tight around Morgan’s shoulders. There’s not a sliver of space between them, hearts hammering side by side in matching ribcages. “You don’t think that my proclivities are indicative of my early emotional instability, do you?”

At that Morgan huffs out a laugh, breathless and shallow. He shifts in Reid’s embrace, resting his chin on Reid’s chest and looking up at him. They lay in silence a little longer before Morgan moves forward, pressing his lips over Reid’s.

“I love you.” It catches Reid off guard, and he feels his heart speed up so quickly he feels a little dizzy. He envisioned something else, not tears and confessions and scars of ancient trauma. It’s so much sweeter than he ever imagined - finally hearing the words. 

“I know.” Is what he replies with, staring at the lines and plains and perfect proportions of Morgan’s face. Even though they don’t quite match the line of the Marquardt mask he knows, without having to study it, that Morgan’s face is the most pleasing he’s ever seen. He realises this is the time for him to say it back, this is the expected pattern of this particular confession. His chest feels tight, he begins to freak out, unable to form the words himself and unaware really as to why. Before he can fall into blind panic Morgan laces his fingers with Reid’s, kissing him again and smiling, soft and genuine.

“Good.”

* * * *

“Have you ever thought about children?” Reid asks, twisting his head to look at Morgan across the back of the booth they’re seated in. Reid is still giddy with pride and champagne, feeling like part of a big warm family. The team are all out together to wet baby Henry’s head and while the girls are chattering nearby on the dance floor and Rossi is having some very intense debate with one of the security team opposite them, Reid and Morgan are wedged into one side of a private booth. 

God father. It’s such a big deal and he can’t really explain why. Maybe because he always felt like JJ saw him like a little brother not someone who could be trusted, and trusted with such a gargantuan task. Gargantuan. Reid considers his empty glass of champagne and how many times it was refilled.

Morgan laughs and shuffles a little closer over the leather seat. Reid sort of forgot he asked a question. “Dunno, is there something you wanna tell me, pretty boy?” Morgan teases, rubbing a hand over Reid’s belly. Reid rolls his eyes and shoves Morgan’s hand away.

“If you didn’t wanna answer the question--” Reid huffs, fidgeting and blushing a little. He’s gotten used to Morgan touching him and the team all knows, mostly. He feels a little self-conscious when Rossi’s eyes flicker over them and then away without registering any particular reaction.

“No, no…” Morgan laughs, sitting up a little more so he can look across at Reid’s face a little better. He suddenly leans in close and presses a wet kiss to Reid’s cheek. Reid bites his lip and smiles, flushing hot and suddenly aware that he must be so _red_. “I hadn’t thought about it really, before--” Morgan gestures and grabs his bottle, taking a swig in a classic delaying tactic. “But now, I guess… I think about it more.”

“Before what?” Reid asks. He shifts on the bench until he’s twisted round and facing Morgan more, fingers itching to touch the bulge of his bicep just below the hem of his t-shirt. Before he can stop himself he does it, just reaches out and touches. Morgan’s skin is warm and firm and Reid swallows unconsciously.

“Before you.” It’s quiet, far more serious then Reid was looking for but Morgan takes another swig and then leans in again, this time kissing Reid’s lips. It’s not really very much, nothing overt or salacious but Reid’s stomach swoops at such a public display of affection. He’s smiling so wide when Morgan pulls away and he’s not sure if it’s the kiss or the confession. They’re quiet for a moment before Reid starts up again.

“I can’t believe JJ wants me to be a Godfather. Especially considering I’ve never had any sort of theistic upbringing--”

“I think that bit’s more symbolic baby. She trusts you to do the right thing for her baby and that’s a big deal.” Morgan smiles, proud and happy. Before they can get much further Garcia totters over on impossible heels, a very pink drink in one hand and a glass of champagne in the other.

“I demand a dance from my Sugar Shack, c’mon baby Genius, you have to share the man candy!” Reid chokes on a laugh and takes Morgan’s beer from him as he slides free of the booth. He offers Reid his hand and cocks an eyebrow but Reid just laughs him away, shaking his head vigorously as he takes a drink from Morgan’s bottle. Morgan looks outraged before he’s dragged away across the floor.

Reid wriggles to the edge of the seat, one leg crossed awkwardly under him as he watches them dancing, Garcia and Prentiss both giggling when Morgan dips and spins them.

“Been a long time since I had anyone look at me that way.” Rossi sighs. Reid had almost forgotten he was there altogether. Champagne he thinks. Roughly 12%, three glasses, roughly 4 units plus half the beer he’s been sneaking from Morgan. Then Rossi’s words register and he blushes, dips his head down smiling. “It’s nice, y’know, seeing you two so… Well, just seeing you two I guess.” Rossi finishes, downing the last of his whiskey. 

“It’s nice just being us two.” Reid answers, and Rossi laughs. 

“Another?” He gestures the beer bottle and Reid shrugs.

“One more can’t do much worse.”

“Cheers to that.”

* * * *

Morgan’s mouth tastes like beer and bar nuts and the faintest trace of the Tequila shot Garcia shoved in his hand after they had danced. It makes Reid’s toes curl in his socks where he’s straddled over Morgan’s lap on the end of bed. He’s lost his tie and his cardigan is off one arm but stuck on his watch on the other. Morgan growls as he fights with it, yanking until something finally gives and the stifling warmth of the cardigan is gone. Half his shirt buttons are already undone but he can’t really be bothered with those right now - right now he has Morgan topless and he’s faced with an acre of hard, dark, sweat soaked skin and he just wants to touch and taste and _take_.

He keeps coming back to Morgan’s arms - palms stretching wide over the muscle and even then he can’t wrap his hand even half way round them. It gets him so worked up and he realises belatedly he has something of a kink for Morgan’s blatantly masculine display of strength. To be fair, Morgan doesn’t seem to mind.

Morgan keeps dipping his head to the exposed length of Reid’s neck and the sharp little jut of his collarbone, exposed by the his shirt that’s half hanging off his shoulders by now. He keeps making these little aborted attempts at biting there, stopping every few seconds like he’s holding himself back. Eventually Reid just looses it and grabs the back of Morgan’s head, forcing his mouth in harder.

“Just-- Do it.” He’s shocked at how rough his own voice sounds, probably the fact he’s been shouting over loud music in the bar and breathing in second hand smoke all night.

“You want me to bite you?” Morgan asks, words slipping right under Reid’s skin. “You want me to mark up all this pretty lily white skin?” He doesn’t wait for an answer - he just does it, _finally_. Reid bucks his hips forward and clenches his fingers against the scratch of Morgan’s hair. The sharp sting of canines mixed with the incredible heat of Morgan’s tongue against his skin and the graze of his stubble all make Reid feel like his limbs have turned to jello. He rips at his belt and fly, struggling to get them open with drunk fingers and a clouded head but he finally manages and shoves his hand unceremoniously down his pants.

Almost immediately Morgan grabs his wrist and pulls his hand away. He holds Reid’s arm out, away from his body, the other hand braced in the small of Reid’s back, clutching at the crumpled material of his shirt.

“Nu-uh. That’s cheating.”

“Son of a--”

“Language.” Morgan sing-songs the warning and Reid just dives in for a kiss, biting down on Morgan’s plump bottom lip in retaliation. He kneels up enough to push both his pants and underwear down and then kneels back down, cock rubbing wet and hot against Morgan’s naked stomach. 

“Son of a bitch.” Morgan mutters, kissing Reid back before grabbing him round the waist and hoisting them both further back on the bed. Reid is laughing as falls down over him, kicking the gathered material of his pants and shorts off while he rocks against Morgan’s stomach.

“Hold up, just-- Gimmie a second. One second.” Reid hovers, braced on both arms as Morgan flicks his own belt open and shimmies out of his jeans and black underwear - Reid doesn’t wait for him to get it all the way off before he’s stroking Morgan’s dick, leaning down to lick at the head quickly before he’s dragged back to Morgan’s mouth by his hair.

“Ouch.” Reid moans against Morgan’s mouth pouting when he pulls away.

“Did I hurt you baby boy?” Morgan questions, rubbing his thumb against the red, spit-wet line of Reid’s lips. “Your fucking _mouth_ \--” He whines before he kisses Reid again.

They rock together - all heat and urgency and no finesse, no need really, not when they both so clearly have the same goal in mind. Reid’s shirt is wrecked completely but he can’t seem to co-ordinate enough to get the damn thing off - instead it’s left hanging half off one shoulder and rucked up about his waist. Morgan reaches between them and wraps his hand as far around the two of them as he can, stroking his fingers up and down loosely, just to add to the friction.

“I want-- Bite me. Will you-- Bite me again.” Reid tried for commanding but only really manages a whine when Morgan tightens his grip around their cocks for just a second before he grabs the back of Reid’s neck and pulls him in close. He latches his teeth onto the soft skin right at the bottom of Reid’s neck, probably not high enough to be seen over the collar of a shirt but-- maybe. And he bites. He sucks the skin between his teeth and it’s stings, sudden and almost too much all at once. “Derek! Oh--” Reid rocks down faster, feeling the rhythm in his hips and going with it, fingers digging into the sheets beneath them so hard that his fingertips ache.

Reid comes first, hips jerking fast as he spills all over Morgan’s stomach. Morgan finally unlatches his teeth and Reid pulls up just a little - he idly registers how hot it is seeing Morgan’s skin smeared in his come like that before he reaches down and rubs his fingers through it. Morgan moans and grabs at his own prick, stroking fast and opening wide when Reid presses his fingers into Morgan’s mouth, staring when Morgan’s makes a show of sucking Reid’s fingers clean.

Reid pulls his fingers free and leans in to kiss Morgan, chasing the taste of himself there which is something he never gets used to. He trails his wet fingers down passed where Morgan is jerking himself off and tugs on his balls, pushes his fingers back further and just teases at the sensitive skin behind. Morgan yells out and comes hard, adding to the mess on his stomach and thoroughly ruining Reid’s shirt. Reid kisses him through it and when Morgan is slumped back against the bed he sits up over Morgan’s hips.

He looks debauched - his hair is mussed, shirt streaked with come and hanging off one shoulder completely, face flushed and pink, lips bitten red and full and one deep, angry looking hickey right above his collar bone. If Morgan were a younger man the sight alone would insight round two. Hell, if he hand’t had so much to drink he reckons he could manage it. Reid just sits there, dazed and smiling like some kind of wet dream come to life.

“Holy crap. You look like you did ten rounds with Dracula.” Morgan brushes his finger tips across the bruise with a featherlight touch.

“I kinda feel like I did.” Reid stretches, a post-orgasm habit Morgan much enjoys watching, especially as when Reid reaches his arms up above his head the shirt rises up and reveals the gentle curve of Reid’s stomach as well as his cock. When he slumps back down the shirt is hanging on for dear life and Morgan smirks as he reaches up to undo the last few buttons. Finally free Reid bunches the shirt up and throws it toward the laundry basket, missing by a few feet.

“Smooth move.” Morgan teases and Reid pokes his tongue out, leaning over for the wet wipes and dropping them on Morgan’s chest. He takes his time cleaning them both off and when he’s finished he finally drops down on top of Morgan, all lanky limbs and damp hair. 

“You comfy there Jimmy Butler?”

“I’m going to presume that’s some kind of sports player and as opposed to the fact that you forgot my name right after ejaculating all over my favorite shirt.” Reid yawns against Morgan’s chest and wriggles a little, stretching his legs out.

“Are you comfortable up there Dr Spencer Reid?” Morgan repeats, kissing the top of Reid’s head.

“Exceedingly.” Reid replies, reaching for the blanket and pulling it up over them both. Reid is asleep in minutes, heavy and sure laying mostly on top of Morgan. Morgan stays awake a little while, brushing his fingers through the soft curls in the back of Reid’s hair. He falls asleep listening to Reid’s steady, calming breaths.

* * * * *

They go to investigate the house, to get a lead on the source of the Anthrax, and Reid slams the glass door in his face. It’s pretty much white noise after that. 

Morgan wants to hold him and touch him and put his hands on him over and over and he can’t. He keeps looking through the window, furious and terrified and so close. When Hotch agrees to let Reid stay in there he wants to yell, hit him, go right in there drag Reid out by himself. Nothing is any good. All he can do is stand there and watch. It’s like his nightmares lit up and come to life. 

He keeps thinking about the bruise on the inside of Reid’s thigh. He put it there three days ago and Reid keeps touching it when he gets out of the shower, when he’s getting dressed. He called it their secret with this perfect little smile on his lips and then he kissed Morgan until they were late. And now someone else is going to get to see it; not just someone, lots of someones - doctors and nurses and lab techs and he can’t stand it. He wants nothing more than to be back in Reid’s bedroom - their bedroom - with the broken blind and the bruise and the overflowing laundry basket.

Reid for his part just stops looking altogether. He can’t. Morgan always goes in first, he has since Reid got abducted after he wandered off alone, and now he’s wandered off and… He’s so sorry. So sorry.

He knows that calling Garcia was a mistake and, true enough, a minute after putting the phone down Morgan calls him with Garcia on the line too. It’s like hell, hearing Morgan forcing his voice to stay calm and calling him ‘kid’ not ‘baby’ like he wants to hear. His breath keeps forcing out of his lungs and he can’t tell if he’s dying or just panicking, clutching his phone to his ear as though he could get closer.

When he finally gets out Morgan is like a shadow on the other side of the partition. So close and still-- He doesn’t want Morgan to see him like this. Weak and vulnerable and possibly dying. He doesn’t want that. But when Morgan finally agrees to go he suddenly panics. What if that’s the last time he ever sees Morgan? He’s about to call him back when Doctor Kimura notices the scratch on the back of his hand.

* * * * *

The room is too quiet. The walls are sterile and empty. The only sound is the steady beat of Reid’s heart. Morgan wants to put his headphones on but he can’t, he can’t risk missing a single beat. At least he can finally touch. He takes Reid’s hand in his own and he presses his hand over Reid’s long, blunt fingers, over his skinny arms, his chest, his stomach, his knee. He checks all the places he loves and finds them all there, in one piece. He wants to cry, wants to just break down into ugly tears and hold Reid to him as though they were alone in bed, nothing to be afraid of. No monsters. Instead he camps out with a graphic novel Garcia brings over for him and he even manages to snag a jello cup from a pretty nurse.

He tries not to think about ways he could keep Reid in his apartment, safe behind walls of books and toys and sleepy sex for all time. He wants so bad to have Reid back in his arms and then the two of them could run away, hiding out in some beach hut on a sunny island where they’ve never heard of Jeffrey Dahmer or the FBI.

Doctor Kimura talks at Morgan for a while. “Recovery period” and “sedation” and “in lieu of pain medication.” Morgan doesn’t explain about the no narcotics thing but he listens to how they had to administer CPR in the ambulance and how his chest will be bruised and he’ll be in pain and he’ll need rest and medication and time and care. 

When Reid wakes up Morgan is right there. He wants to reach out but when he moves his whole body hurts. But there’s jello. So it’s not all bad. He falls asleep again pretty quickly after that, Morgan’s hand in his, stroking patterns against his knuckles over and over. 

When he wakes up the second time it’s dark outside although his room is still relatively bright. The curtains have been pulled across the glass door at the foot of the bed and Morgan is asleep in the armchair beside the bed, one arm thrown across Reid’s chest.

“I love you.” It sounds strange coming out of his mouth, dry and husky. It sounds… far less clichéd then he was expecting. Far more real. Scary almost. Morgan stirs awake, blinking against the harsh hospital lighting and then jumping forward when he registers what woke him.

“Hey, hey baby boy.” He settles on the side of the bed, covering their joint hands with another of his own. “How you doing?”

“I--” Reid swallows, breathing through the bloom of pain he’s becoming aware of in his chest. “I love you.” Is what he says, squeezing Morgan’s fingers in his own. Morgan smiles slow, like the sunrise; reaching out from his mouth to his eyes and then everywhere. He leans forward and brushes his lips against Reid’s, ignoring the tubes and the hospital gown and the taste of dry blood still lingering on Reid’s lips.

He rests there, their foreheads pressed together for a moment, before he sits back up. He smooths his hand up Reid’s arm and then down his chest, spreading his palm over Reid’s thudding heartbeat and smiling. “I know.”


End file.
